


Father(-effing-)Christmas

by MykEsprit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas Eve, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Holiday, Humor, Some coarse language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 21:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16773112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MykEsprit/pseuds/MykEsprit
Summary: Loki is up on Christmas Eve when he bumps into an intruder.





	Father(-effing-)Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling.
> 
> Written for Marvelously Magical Fanfiction's Enchanted Wonders 2018. Thanks for another fun event, admins!

He knows it is safe when the snoring begins. Pansy Parkinson, the bastion of elegance and glamour, sleeps like a Frost Giant with clogged sinuses. It is a problem she refuses to admit even when confronted with audio evidence.

This is fine with Loki—more than fine. In his thousand years in Asgard, he learned one important lesson: perfection cannot be trusted.

Beauty is but a mask. Gold blinds the eye to the grime of its surroundings. There are no realities in which truth and perfection can coexist.

Loki finds comfort in people’s flaws. Pansy acknowledges many of hers—too impatient, too impetuous, and, sometimes, a tad too shouty—but she can never admit to snoring.

It’s too fucking adorable; and tonight, particularly, it is extremely helpful. Assured that Pansy is in deep slumber, Loki slides out of bed, leaving an illusion of himself sleeping peacefully beside her. He sneaks out of the bedroom and pads down the grand staircase to the main parlor.

It is done up in shades of white—eggshell walls and marble flooring. A tasteful statue poses in the corner by the picture window. Stout furniture rest in a semicircle around a fireplace.

And, all around the room, there is not a hint that tonight is Christmas Eve.

He thought nothing of it, at first. Midgard has so many damn holidays, and he has no interest nor inclination to learn the ins-and-outs of all their celebrations. Earlier in the evening, though, Pansy had dragged him along to Malfoy Manor for a Christmas Eve ball. Her dark eyes lit up at the sight of all the trimmings. She _ooohed_ and _aahed_ at a giant tree in the middle of the room—of all places—its branches heavy with shiny baubles. He hardly noticed it all at the time, distracted as he was with how Pansy simply _glowed_.

He imagines that expression now as he goes about the parlor. She is his muse; and the memory of her delighted expression inspires him as he paces the perimeter. He waves his hands and flicks his wrists, shaping his illusions.

Loki concentrates so hard on his work that he doesn’t notice the bearded man in the room until he bounces against his protruding belly. Startled, Loki leaps halfway across the room. His dagger—always on him, though often concealed—flies straight for the intruder’s heart.

The bearded man waves a red-and-white striped stick and yells, “ _Protego_!” The dagger misses its mark and embeds in the soft, cream-colored couch. The bearded man grumbles, “Bloody hell! What are you doing out of bed? I saw you sleeping next to the girl!”

Loki grips the handle of his other dagger. “Who are you,”—he points it at the man’s rosy cheeks—“and how did you get in here?”

A clamor on the stairs turns their heads. Pansy enters the room, glancing between Loki and the man clad in a red suit. Her wand arm lies limply at her side and her face sports a rare, perplexed look. “What the hell?”

“Stay back, Pansy!” In a flash, Loki positions himself between her and the trespasser. “This pervert was watching us while were sleeping.” He raises his dagger again. “Who are you, old man? State your purpose quickly, or your suit won’t be the only shade of red you’ll be wearing—”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Loki,” Pansy hisses. “Lower your weapon. That’s obviously—”

“Father- _fucking-_ Christmas.” The bearded man drops the bulky sack from his shoulder and crosses his arms. “And you better do as she says, young man.”

“Young ma— _young man_?” Loki marches to him and presses the tip of the dagger just under his snowy white beard. “Do you have _any_ idea who I am?”

“You are Loki Laufeyson. She,”—he points a chubby finger—“is Pansy Parkinson. And _I_ am Father Christmas. Someone, I’m now gathering, you’ve never heard of.” He mumbles under his breath in quite a menacing tone, “I’m going to have a word with the Allfather.”

Pansy lays a hand on Loki’s shoulder. “It’s all right. Everything’s fine. You can stop jutting your knife into Father Christmas’ jugular now.”

After a tense minute—and a short battle with himself to just cut the man anyway and let the chips fall where they may—Loki lowers his dagger and turns to Pansy. “Explain.”

She does, succinctly. As she speaks, the bearded bastard strolls around the spacious parlor, muttering, “Everyone’s wide awake, but not a biscuit in sight. Not even a drop of milk. Though what was I expecting…really…”

By the time he comes back around, Pansy is done talking, and Loki has had enough with being enlightened.

“So,” Loki growls, “you come around every Christmas Eve to leave presents?”

“Oh, _good_ ,” Father Christmas drawls. “You’re finally caught up.”

Loki huffs, shooting Pansy a sharp look. “I still don’t like it.”

Pansy shrugs. “I get a pair of pretty shoes every year from a nice, old man. What’s not to like?” She squints at the object in Father Christmas’ hand. “Though, honestly, I didn’t realize you were a wizard. Or that you can use a peppermint stick as a wand.”

“Of course, I’m a wizard! How else do you think I come through the chimney? I’ve got an international Floo pass!” Father Christmas waves the stick around. “And this is just a regular, old wand. I just decorate it on Christmas Eve to match my outfit.”

“Oh!” Pansy nods, her eyebrows inching up her forehead. “Well done.”

Loki sputters. “All right, old man. Do what you came here to do, and then get the hell out.”

Father Christmas rolls his eyes. “Gladly.” He bends down and fishes out two packages. He throws the larger box to Loki. “Here,” he says, then adds in a low, grousing tone, “you ungrateful prick—”

Loki catches the box deftly, a surprised expression overriding his sneer. “I…get a present?”

“Of course, you do, my boy. You’ve been good this year, what with all the saving the world you’ve been doing lately. It pays to be a good guy.”

“Right.” Loki scoffs. “And all my selfless heroics has earned me,”—he rips the wrapping paper and tears open the box—“a pair of daggers?” He glances at Father Christmas.

“Not just any daggers. These are daggers only _you_ can use. No one else will be able to take them out of their scabbards. No one.” Father Christmas winks. “Not. Even. _Thor_.”

A broad smile tugs on Loki’s lips as he stares at the daggers in the box. “Like having _two_ Mjolnirs,” he whispers.

“Yep!” Father Christmas’ eyes twinkle.

“Ooh! Me next!” Pansy claps her hands eagerly. “What did I get this year? Is it the new Manolo Blahniks I’ve been eyeing?”

Silently, Father Christmas hands her a small box. Pansy tears it open; her face crumples when she holds the content up to her face.

“Coal?” She shoots him a wounded look. “Why the hell did I get coal? I’d hardly made fun of Granger’s hair this year!”

Father Christmas lifts his wide shoulders. “You’re the one who decided to shack up with the God of Mischief. I mean, _really_ , Pansy.”

She stamps her Manolo Blahnik-less foot on the white marble. “But— _he_ —”

“There are consequences to your actions,” Father Christmas lectures as he meanders to the fireplace. “All the deities in all the realms…the God of Mischief, _really_.” He throws a handful of Floo powder in the fire and steps inside. “I hear _Thor_ ’s single again—or, are you too good for Jane Foster’s sloppy seconds?”

With a final, irritated scoff, Father Christmas Floo’s away.

Loki wraps an arm around Pansy and plants a kiss at her temple. Then, he taps her foot with his. In a blink, her feet are cradled in three-inch heels from Manolo Blahnik’s fall collection.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as she peers at him from under her lashes.

“Don’t thank me.” He nips her earlobe lightly. “I did it for purely selfish reasons. You look dead sexy in those shoes.”

Pansy chuckles as she throws an arm over his shoulder. “It’s not just for the shoes.” She gestures around the room at the holiday decorations. “Thank you for all of this, too.” Holding the piece of coal between them, she teases, “You’re totally worth getting a piece of coal every year.”

Loki plucks the coal from her grasp. Briefly, he squeezes it in his fist; when he unfurls his fingers, a large diamond pendant has taken its place. “Better?” He dangles the pendant on a delicate silver chain.

Pansy turns around, moving her long, dark hair to one shoulder as she smirks. “I knew I picked the right brother.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments/Kudos are appreciated!


End file.
